


A Failure Of Survival Skills

by helens78



Series: Trip Stumble Fall [3]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Community: ds_kinkmeme, Dark, Ex Sex, Hurt, Jealousy, M/M, Rough Sex, Semipublic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At an office Christmas party, Fraser can't stay away from Ray, even if being with Ray is only going to tear both of them to shreds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Failure Of Survival Skills

**Author's Note:**

> For a ds_kinkmeme prompt: _Fraser/RayK - they broke up ages ago, but neither one of them is good at letting go, and Fraser's post-Ray jealousy makes Ray's post-Stella jealousy look like nothing._. spuffyduds answered that prompt, too, and you should totally read [Used To Think I Knew You](http://spuffyduds.dreamwidth.org/229429.html), because it is awesome, but you should possibly also read the warnings. Then again, if you prefer to read warnings on stories, you should probably check the tags here, too. This story contains remarkably large amounts of hurt and very little comfort.

In retrospect, Fraser should really have gone back to Canada for the holidays. Maggie had invited him to stay with her, and the Yellowknife airport would have been as busy as it ever gets; there's every likelihood he could have found someone whose flight was delayed, who was as in need of temporary companionship--emphasis on temporary--as Fraser is.

But when the time had come to pick up the phone and call the airline, leaving had seemed so cowardly--Ray Vecchio had offered to let Fraser spend as much time as he liked with his family over the holidays, Francesca had been equally enthusiastic, and as for Ray Kowalski, it was unlikely he'd be around very much, what with having been reassigned.

Of course, there was the office Christmas party; of course, Ray was being reassigned _back_ to the 27th precinct; of course, that gave Ray every right to be here tonight, and there he is, walking into the party late and heading straight for a tall, brown-haired man in his early thirties. Ray gives the man a handshake, and then he smiles at him, and it's the kind of smile Fraser knows, from entirely too much experience, means either _I want you_ or _I've had you_ or perhaps even _Damn, I wish we could bust outta here early so we could go someplace and screw._

He isn't even aware he's moving forward until there's a hand on his arm, holding him back. He looks down at his arm, then at the hand on it, and he frowns at Vecchio, who naturally is the owner of that hand. "I was only going to--"

"Yeah, save it for someone who's gonna believe it," Vecchio says under his breath. "You don't need to do this right now, okay?"

"I think hiding is only delaying the inevitable," Fraser says. "We'll obviously be seeing each other at work; I might as well get it over with, don't you think?"

He pulls away even as Vecchio says, "No, I _don't_ think," and then, "but since when do you listen to me?", and then Vecchio's following him, pushing through the crowd right behind him, arriving at the other side of the room as Fraser walks up to Ray and the other man.

Ray goes absolutely, perfectly still for a moment, and Fraser feels the tension in Ray echoed as a sparking jolt up his own spine. He nods at Ray--"Ray, how are you"--and then turns to the other man and extends his hand. "Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

The other man takes his hand and grips it firmly. "Andrew Hartman," he says, smiling, and Fraser doesn't let his hand go and doesn't stop smiling. He wonders what Ray sees in this man, whether it's just his physical attributes or if there's more to it than that. He wonders if he could find out firsthand.

There's a sharp pain in his right shoulder, and he lets go of Hartman's hand reflexively, his head whipping around to see what--Vecchio again. Vecchio has his hand on Fraser's shoulder, and while the grip looks friendly, Fraser knows what Vecchio's doing, and he doesn't appreciate it one damned bit.

"Benny and I were gonna take off in a minute here," Vecchio's saying, and suddenly Ray's looking hard at Vecchio, which--he can't possibly think--Ray's married now, for pity's sake, and Fraser knows Ray hasn't forgotten that.

But Ray says, "Yeah, me and Hartman were on our way out, too. Glad you stopped by, though. Guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other after the new year, huh?"

"Looking forward to it," Hartman says, and Fraser turns his second-best smile on him, just to see what happens.

What happens is Ray's smile turns brittle and glassy, and he says, "Hey, Frase, I been meaning to talk to you about something; you got a minute before we go?"

"No," Vecchio says.

"Yes--"

"_No--_"

"I'm sure it'll only take a moment, Ray," Fraser says, and he nods to Ray Kowalski, and the two of them slip away from the rest of the party, down the hall, up the stairs, into the out-of-order men's room on the fourth floor. Fraser barely gets inside before Ray's on him, shoving him back against the door.

"Don't do that to me," Ray says, pointing one accusing finger directly at Fraser's face. "Contrary to your opinion, I am not fucking stupid. I know what that was all about."

"I'm sure you do," Fraser says, meeting Ray's obvious agitation with as much calm as he can project. It's always made Ray crazy, and Fraser thinks he'd like to see that right now. He deserves to see that. "I assume you can forgive a small amount of curiosity; after all, you're clearly finding him interesting enough to fuck."

"Jesus Christ, Fraser," Ray says, turning on his heel and pacing away. Fraser follows him, and he shoves Ray up against the opposite wall, pressing his face to the back of Ray's neck. Ray groans, but he already has his legs apart, and Fraser fits between them like he belongs there.

"Is he good?" Fraser whispers. "Is he better than I was?"

"You _asshole_," Ray whispers.

Fraser puts one hand on Ray's wrist and slides the other between them, down the back of Ray's jeans. "If that's a request, I should warn you it isn't what I'm in the mood for right now."

"Why the fuck do you keep doing this?" Ray murmurs. He's unbuckling his belt, shoving his jeans and briefs down to his thighs. Fraser opens up his own fly, glad he's not in uniform--but of course he isn't in uniform; he knew there was a chance Ray might show up tonight. He just hadn't wanted to admit to himself what he'd do if he saw Ray here--what he knew he'd do if he saw Ray with someone else, and with the quiet rumors about Ray and his new _partner_, what he was going to do was inevitable.

And here he is, about to perform the inevitable, except that his penchant toward self-denial left him with no supplies. He hesitates, cock in his hand, wondering where Ray's been these last few months; he knows about a few of Ray's encounters, but he can't believe he knows about all of them. There's a black, ugly curl of emotion in the pit of his stomach that thinks he ought to just go ahead and do this, take Ray in a way that Ray was never willing to commit to when they were actually together...

But then Ray reaches down and gets his hand into his pocket. He comes up with a condom and a lube packet, and he hands both to Fraser without turning away from the wall. Fraser takes them, but his whole body goes cold.

"You had plans for tonight," he says, and he thinks about Hartman, about the easy way Ray and Hartman were talking before he interrupted them. About the way Ray was smiling at Hartman.

"Fuck you," Ray fires back.

"As I believe I mentioned earlier, I'm not in the mood for that tonight."

"No, _fuck you_," Ray spits. "You know, Vecchio called me."

Fraser freezes. "What?"

"Vecchio. Called. Me. To tell me you'd be here. Told me maybe I should skip it."

Fraser's heart leaps into his throat, and his chest aches. Ray knew. Ray knew he was going to be here, and he came anyway. Ray didn't stay away because of him--or because of this.

"And I thought about it," Ray murmurs. "I really did."

"Ray, I..."

"But then I realized," Ray says, and his voice is like a fist, tensed and pulled back and aimed, "that I already told Hartman I'd be coming, and I already had the stuff in my pocket anyway, and I am not hiding my face around here just because I can't--just because _you_ can't get over me," he finishes, and _already had the stuff in my pocket anyway_, there's the punch, and it's a solid hit, one that knocks Fraser back and leaves him reeling.

He doesn't stay rocked for long, though; after one harsh, painful gasp past a throat that's gone tight, he grits his teeth and tears into the condom, and he sheathes himself with it. He glances at the lube packet in his hand and shoves it into his pocket; the condom's lubricated, and Ray has obviously been getting fucked often enough he can't really need it.

So when he starts moving in, it's rough and angry, and Ray slams a fist into the wall and then pants out his breath from behind gritted teeth of his own. He puts his arms up and rests his head against them; Fraser watches as Ray curls his hands into fists and his knuckles go white. Ray takes one inch, then the next, another and another, and when Fraser's all the way in--when Fraser's deep inside Ray, their breath coming out harsh but _together_, he rests his head on Ray's shoulder and moans out loud.

"Ray--"

"--yeah, fuck, go on, do it--"

Fraser nods against Ray's shoulder and starts moving. There was a time they did this in every imaginable way, in ways Fraser couldn't have even dreamed of until Ray would twist or move or pounce and start touching him, and even then, even at the time, he'd wonder how Ray knew about those things--who'd taught them to Ray, because there must have been men before Fraser, women before Fraser, all kinds of people who had the right to touch him before Fraser had ever met him.

Now it's just this one way, because it's always Fraser who snaps first, always Fraser who needs to fuck his anger into Ray, who needs to push him, who needs Ray to admit it--_admit it, damn you, admit it, just admit it, you still love me, and if you don't love me anymore, you still love this, because you're a fucking whore and you need it from everyone_\--

Ray's panting out "yes, yes, yeah, need it, Fraser, need it _so fucking hard_," like Fraser's been talking out loud. He hasn't been, he's not going to lose control like that, but Ray's words echo off Fraser's thoughts, and Fraser gives it to Ray--harsh, furious thrusts that pin Ray to the wall and make him yell out in strangled, incoherent syllables as his ass tightens around Fraser's cock and he comes, sagging between the wall and Fraser, sobbing for breath.

Fraser isn't far behind; he digs his teeth into Ray's shoulder and growls out loud as he comes, wanting to leave Ray marked, wanting Ray's new _partner_ to see Fraser's teeth on Ray's body later on tonight. He doesn't let go until his body stops jerking, until the last hot pulses have worked their way through his system, and when he finally does ease up, he pulls out, too, stumbling over to the stall on the end like it's all routine now.

He ties off the condom and tosses it into the toilet, mind's eye imagining the number of times he's done that since he and Ray broke up, since Ray started coming back to the 27th precinct for completely fabricated purposes. Someone still cleans up this bathroom, even though it's been out of order for months now.

He wonders if it's Ray. Maybe it's the _other_ Ray; Vecchio, trying to clean up Fraser's messes as usual.

"Fuck it," he mutters, walking back out of the stall and getting his jeans back in order. He buckles his belt and looks at Ray, who's turned around, found a cleaner patch of wall to rest against, and is rubbing at his shoulder. Ray's zipped up again, too, but his jeans are stained in front, a few tiny splatters on his thighs that no one would notice unless they're looking. His head's tilted up toward the ceiling, and his eyes are closed.

"You get what you wanted?" Ray mumbles. "We good for now?"

"Not really," Fraser whispers, staring at Ray's throat, at his hands, at the line of his body as he rests against the wall. "But then you've somewhere to be, haven't you?"

Ray's head snaps forward, and he squints at Fraser. "Get out," he says harshly, and Fraser takes a step back automatically; that tone of voice, that's not something he can push at, not without walking home with bruises of his own. "Tell Vecchio--" He snorts, sneers at Fraser. "Tell him thanks for the heads-up. Have him give Stella my love."

The pain wells up so fast Fraser's eyes sting; he can't breathe for a few seconds, even though it's meaningless, even though Ray doesn't have an ounce of love left for Stella and Fraser would never pass on the message anyway.

"You must really hate me," he whispers.

"Be nice if I could," Ray says, and God, his voice sounds as rough and torn as Fraser's must. "But it probably wouldn't change much."

There's nothing left to say; Fraser turns on his heel to leave. He gets nearly to the door before Ray's on him, grabbing at his arm, spinning him back around and--oh God, oh God, his mouth's on Fraser's and he's kissing him and _they're kissing_, and Ray's clinging to Fraser the way he did the night Fraser walked out on him, clinging like he knows they're both going to die if they let go.

Someone bangs on the bathroom door, and they jump apart. "Guys, Jesus _Christ_," and that's Vecchio, and they can't stay up here anymore; Vecchio wouldn't be interrupting like that if they had more time to spare. "Finish the fuck up and get out of there."

"Ray," Fraser whispers, but Ray just shakes his head and holds an arm out--_go_, it says, the way he always tells Fraser to go, now.

Fraser goes.

Vecchio takes one look at him and sighs. He wraps an arm around Fraser's shoulders and pulls him down the hall.

"I'm gonna have to shoot you in the back to get you to stop this shit, aren't I?" he asks quietly.

"You might," Fraser admits, eyes on the floor.

"You think I oughta?"

Fraser hears the bathroom door open again, close again, and he hears footsteps padding double-time down the hall in the opposite direction. "Not just yet," he murmurs. "Not tonight."

_-end-_


End file.
